Chapter 4 - The Entitled and the Shameless
"Fix what, Dad?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
"You know damn well what," he hissed. "You humiliated your mother and me in front of our entire community today. Robert, Thomas, your cousins—they are blowing up our phones asking why we’re taking money from you! You made me look like a beggar!"
"You didn't look like a beggar when you were taking $2,800 a month out of my account for the last four years," I replied, opening my banking app on my monitor. "You looked like a man perfectly comfortable taking his daughter's hard-earned money while treating her child like dirt."
"We raised you!" Arthur roared. "We gave you an education! We sacrificed everything for you to get that high-paying corporate job, and you owe this family your loyalty! You think you’re better than us because you work in tech? You think you can look down on Clare because she had a harder path?"
"Clare’s 'harder path' consists of refusing to keep a job for more than three months because every boss she ever had was 'toxic,'" I said flatly. "And you didn't pay for my college, Dad. I had two jobs, an academic scholarship, and fifty thousand dollars in student loans that *I* paid off. You paid for Clare’s design degree that she dropped out of after two semesters."
A strangled gasp came over the line—my mother had picked up the extension.
"You ungrateful, wicked girl!" Evelyn sobbed, her voice trembling with theatrical grief. "After everything I’ve done! I watched Mia for you!"
"You watched Mia for three hours on a Tuesday afternoon, Evelyn," I said, dropping the title of mother. "And during those three hours, you allowed Clare’s son to physically assault her, and then you punished *her* for crying. I took her to urgent care tonight. She has a severe deep-tissue contusion and a ligament sprain. Her arm is in a sling."
Silence hung on the line for a brief second. For a heartbeat, I wondered if some shred of grandmotherly remorse would surface.
I was an idiot to hope.
"A sling?" Evelyn scoffed, her tone turning venomous. "You put her in a sling for attention! You’re just like you were at her age—dramatic, sensitive, always crying when someone played a little rough with you! Owen is a boy! Boys push! You’re raising that girl to be weak!"
"If you ever come near Mia again," I said, my voice dropping an octave, cold and absolute, "I will have you arrested for child endangerment. Do you hear me?"
"You don't threaten us!" Arthur shouted. "Listen to me, Elena. You will transfer the fourteen thousand dollars to Clare’s account by tomorrow morning. St. Jude’s enrollment deadline is Friday. If that check isn't in their office, don't you dare ever call yourself part of this family again. We will cut you off completely."
I almost laughed. "Cut me off from what, Dad? Cut me off from paying your bills? Cut me off from financing your delusions? You don't have leverage over me anymore. You don't sign my paychecks. You don't hold the deed to my house. The only thing you had was my love and my sense of duty, and you incinerated both of them this afternoon."
"Elena—"
"The monthly transfers are canceled. The school is not getting paid. And if you or Clare call me again, I’m changing my number. Lose it."
I hung up.
Before Arthur could dial back, I blocked both of their numbers on my cellular provider’s account dashboard.
The next morning, Tuesday, I took the day off work to stay home with Mia. We spent the morning in our pajamas, baking blueberry muffins. Mia’s spirits were significantly higher; seeing her arm safely wrapped seemed to validate her experience. She knew she was believed, and that belief had lifted an invisible, crushing weight from her small shoulders.
Around 11:30 AM, while Mia was coloring at the kitchen island, a loud, violent pounding rattled my front door.
*BAM! BAM! BAM!*
Mia jumped, dropping her yellow crayon. She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"Mommy... is that Owen?"
"Stay here, sweetie," I said calmly, setting down my coffee mug. "Keep coloring. Mommy’s going to handle it."
I checked the security monitor on the wall near the entryway.
The high-definition camera showed Clare standing on my front porch. She was wearing oversized sunglasses, a heavy winter coat, and looked disheveled. Standing right beside her was Owen, holding an empty folder against his chest.
I took a breath, stepped into the foyer, and unlocked the heavy wooden door, leaving the reinforced iron security screen door locked between us.
Clare glared at me through the iron lattice. "Open this door, Elena."
"You have thirty seconds to get off my property, Clare," I said evenly.
"Look at him!" Clare shrieked, grabbing Owen by the shoulders and shoving him forward toward the screen. "Look at your nephew! Look him in the eye and tell him you ruined his life! Tell him he can't go to the school with the advanced STEM program because his aunt is a cold-hearted psycho!"
Owen didn't look heartbroken. He looked irritated, chewing his gum loudly, glaring at me with the exact same sullen, entitled defiance my father possessed.
"Owen," I said, addressing him directly through the screen.
Owen blinked, caught off guard.
"Did you push Mia off that chair?"
Owen scowled and looked down at his sneakers. "She wouldn't move. It was my turn."
"And did you say you wished she didn't exist?"
"She was annoying me," Owen muttered, rolling his eyes. "Grandma said she was being a tattle-tale."
"See?!" Clare cut in, her face twisted in a sneer. "He’s a child! He was annoyed! Kids say stupid things! Are you really going to hold a ten-year-old boy accountable for words he didn't mean?"
"He did mean it, Clare," I said coldly. "Because he learned it from you. He learned that Mia doesn't matter, that I don't matter, and that the two of us exist solely to serve your convenience and your budget."
"Elena, you listen to me," Clare hissed, stepping closer to the screen, her breath fogging the metal. "The mortgage on Mom and Dad’s house bounced this morning. My car payment was declined at midnight. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Dad is having chest pains! Mom has been crying for twelve hours!"
"Then Dad should see a doctor, and Mom should drink some water," I replied. "And you, Clare, should look into getting an actual job."
Clare’s face twisted into pure, unadulterated venom. "You think you’re so smart. You think you’ve won. Dad went to St. Jude this morning. He told the admissions director that you made a legal pledge as a sponsor and that you’re refusing to release the funds out of spite. The school is contacting their legal counsel. You’re going to pay that tuition whether you like it or not!"
I stared at her through the iron mesh. A cold, dangerous calm settled over me.
"Did he really?" I asked softly.
"Yes! So you might as well open this door, write the check, and end this before we ruin your reputation at your fancy corporate job!"
"Clare," I said, pointing directly to the small black dome mounted in the corner of the porch ceiling. "Smile. You’re on high-definition audio and video surveillance. You are currently trespassing. If you and your son are not off my driveway in sixty seconds, I am calling the police and pressing charges for harassment. And then I’m sending this footage to St. Jude’s admissions board."
Clare looked up at the camera. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She realized, perhaps for the very first time in her pampered life, that her tantrums no longer possessed the power to bend reality.
"You're dead to us," Clare whispered, her voice shaking with rage. "You are completely dead to this family."
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"Good," I said, and closed the heavy oak door in her face.
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